


Angel's Play

by Queen_Walrus_Approximately



Category: 1960s Music Scene RPF
Genre: Angels, Angels vs. Demons, Assassination, Demons, Forbidden Love, Hunted Vampires, M/M, Murder, Romance, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Walrus_Approximately/pseuds/Queen_Walrus_Approximately
Summary: Brian Jones finds himself in a land more white and pure than any man could imagine; heaven. But the only way he is allowed to stayed in this realm for the rest of his eternity, is by completing the tasks that the Arch angels assign to him, and theyre not as simple as it may sound for an immortal...





	1. Chapter 1

An ethereal dream, is only how it could be described. Blinding with it's brilliance, soothing with it's touch of grace. Brian could not feel a thing, nor see a thing- rather he just knew the suffocating feeling from before was fleeting, and he felt free from the pressure. He opened his eyes, and saw light, blinding and white. He turned his head, and still, only more white. He laughed a little, surprised he had made it to the top of that flight of stairs, which seemed like forever.  
Sitting up, he brushed his hair back, looking around. Standing, he wandered a few paces, with no destination in mind, or sight.  
"Hello?" he called out, not really sure why, or if he would receive a response. To his surprise, he did.  
"Hello, Brian," a calm, male voice replied. "I have been waiting for you to awaken. There are many important things for us to discuss," he continued as Brian wandered a bit more. Then, a 7-foot tall body materialized right in front of him, stopping Brian in his tracks. He yelped in surprise, then looked up at the man. No, more than a man; he had a disposition that was unearthly. He practically glowed, skin glittering with absolute purity- and then Brian noticed the wings. The man had wings of the whitest feathers, as white as everything else in the realm.  
The Man then began to speak, knocking Brian out of his musing. "I am archangel Micheal, he who is like God, and conqueror of Satan. I have been waiting for your arrival, so I may recruit you into my crusade to diminish evil," he announced. Brian shook his head, confounded.  
"Woah, mate. Crusade? To what?" Brian gaped at him. He surely couldn't be implying that he wanted Brian-  
"Indeed, I do, want you to fight and defeat our enemy, Brian," Micheal stared him in the eye, making it evident he could hear Brian's thoughts loud and clear. "It is your duty to join our effort and murder the demons that plague the human world. You have no say in this matter, or else you will be descended to where you truly belong," Micheal said sternly. All of this news was making Brian's head spin, and he felt a bit panicked about this new responsibility laid- no, thrown in a rush, on his shoulders. However, he was mostly concerned with the latest words to leave Micheal's mouth.  
"S-so, you mean to tell me, I'm supposed to be in HELL?" Brian asked, staring up at him with eyes wide and jaw slack. Micheal nodded, and gave a slight, comforting smile down at the much shorter man.  
"You are right, Brian, but do not fear; as long as you join us, your place is right up here." Brian had no idea what he was signing up for, but he was not taking a chance on being un-saved.  
"Oh uh, alright, I'll do it, I'll fight, but I can't promise much," The nervous, overwhelmed boy told the archangel.  
Micheal nodded and turned, motioning for Brian to follow him. "I specifically chose you for this mission; if I did not think you were capable, we wouldn't be speaking as of this moment. Now, let's discuss your training..."


	2. 82 Years Later

In the grassy plains of Bozeman, Montana, Brian stabbed his fiery sword into the daemon, who writhed on the ground. It shrieked in agony as the silver entered it's chest, moments before it exploded, and it's black, rotten blood painted Brian from head to toe. Brian picked his sword up from the now incinerated grass where the daemon disappeared, and wiped it off on his white pants, the slimy substance smearing on his leg.  
Brian sighed, bored of the routine. He had fought and killed the same creatures every night, for the past 80 years. At first he had enjoyed the task, took pride in the growing numbers he took down every night- but lately, Brian has been feeling misused, he knew he could take on bigger competition; he was, after all, named Micheal's second in command not 10 years ago. So, why was he fighting THESE daemons?  
As he pondered his uselessness, he stared out across the expansive skyline. Big Sky Country. In all 109 years of his existence, he never had the pleasure of admiring the nature and life around him. He was always too busy with his music, and now, fighting to protect humanity. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, watching the white mist of his breath exit his body into the cold, crisp air.  
He felt a tingle on the back of his neck, alerting him he was being summoned back to the heavens. Brain arched his shoulders forward, and materialized his large wings, the white feathers coming to be from the two slits on his shirt back that allow them to expand. He pushed off the ground and flew straight up, and into the next realm, arriving to the familiar place of pure white, a place he called home since his death.  
Brian looked around, and spotted all of the Archangels gathered around in the distance. He walked over, curious why he was being called to a meeting with them, then grew concerned at the collective stare they threw over at him.  
"Uh, hey? Micheal, what's this calling for?" Brian asked, always intimidated by intense staring. Micheal sighed.  
"We called this congregation to discuss your placement, Brian."  
His tone frightened Brian, and he racked his brain for anything he could've possibly done wrong.  
"Listen, mate, if I fucked up, I don't-"  
"You didn't do anything wrong, Brian," Uriel interrupted, surprising him, "In fact, your performance has astounded us so much, we gathered to discuss your promotion," He said, smiling a little. Brian's eyes widened upon his remarking such a thing.  
"Promotion...? You mean, I don't have to fight those creatures anymore?" He asked, excited about the prospect.  
"Correct," Raphael answered, with a nod of his head.  
"But you'll need to complete your first task to prove yourself before we can promote you to standing chief," Micheal stated, but it didn't damper Brian's enthusiasm by any means- Rather, only escalated it.  
"Whatever it is, I'll do it. I'm ready for whatever daemon you need slaying," he vowed. The Archangels all shared a strange, knowing look, which concerned him a little. What if he didn't know what kind of creature he was up against? Brian wondered to himself, biting his lip.  
"Your eagerness to protect humanity is pleasing to see, and makes it easier for this next transformation," Micheal said, and he waved a hand over Brian's head, and he was immediately engulfed in a searing heat. Brian fell to his knees, yelling in pain, his wings molting and expanding at a great pace. He could feel the bones lengthening, and his muscles ached as well. Even after the process was done, Brian stayed crouched on the ground, breathing heavily. His clothes felt tight, and his wings cast a dark shadow over him. No, his wings WERE the dark shadow. His once ghostly white wings were now as dark as a raven, glossy feather glimmering as they expanded three times the wing width as they had originally in their other form. Brian looked down at his clothes, and no longer was he robed in his daemon-blood stained white pants and tunic; rather, he was now attired in black leather pants, a black silk shirt, and shitkickers. He noticed, also, his arms were larger, more muscular. He was far stronger. Brian's eyes widened as he stood slowly, not used to the weight on his back. "Woah, why all this?" he asked, pulling his wing forward to stroke his new feathers. This was extremely out of the ordinary for Brian, and he was feeling uncomfortable in the dark colors after wearing purely white for 8 decades. "Your targets will be stronger and more dangerous, so you need to take any advantage you can get. Which means, having the appearance of a fallen angel. Otherwise, you'll immediately be torn to pieces," Raphael said, sternly leaned over the much shorter Brian, who no longer coward to the 7 feet men, feeling braver and stronger since his transformation. Micheal walked up behind Raphael, and pushed him aside gently. "Anyway, your first target, is a vampyre. He's based in Atl-" "A vampyre?! Only you can defeat a daemon of that status," Brian interrupted, a bit shook. After a deep sigh, Micheal continued,"based in Atlanta, Georgia. Brian, if we didn't think you could do this, we wouldn't have assigned you to it. As you know, most vampyres nest multiple to one house, but this one, he lives alone, which makes him more dangerous. Now, go find your target, before the sun rises," and with Micheal's final words, the Archangels turned and walked into a growing fog. Brian swallowed hard, his nervousness growing. Taking one last, deep breath to steady himself, he expanded his wings and dove down through the clouds, and into the mortal realm, headed towards central Atlanta.


	3. Half Past Midnight

Jim snorted one of the lines of coke on his desk, and wiped his nose before looking up to sneer at the tweaker on the other side- and he was tweaking, bad, nervous.  
"Where's my money, darling?" Jim drawled in his southern accent, grinning, all teeth showing. The mortal started to sputter out a thin lie, as thin as the cocaine lines on his glass-top desk. He's been trying to get out of this situation for the past 15 minutes, and watching him weasel about now became boring to Jim. He stood, and waved a hand to the security guard behind the tweaker. Jim smiled, his extra sharp incisors showing, and the scrawny man's eyes bulged.  
"Where's. My. Money," Jim gritted out as the druggy was seized by both arms and brought up to Jim.  
"I don't- man, we all make mistakes- I'll get it to you next week, I swear- please, I have a family," The kid's gibberish wasn't giving Jim the answer he desired, rather it was annoying him. He couldn't wait to get rid of him.  
Jim's lip curled back, and he grabbed the kid by the back of the head, his nails digging into the matted hair. Pulling him close, Jim struck his teeth into the druggy's throat, tearing the skin jaggedly. He screamed in agony, the acid his fangs contained, flowing into his blood stream. As Jim drained him of his life source, the boy continued to scream for help, whimper, and groan in the worst ways possible. He wasn't concerned about anyone hearing, though.  
When he was full, but the needle junkie continued to writhe, Jim tore his fangs across his throat, slicing his jugular. And the little bit of blood that was left spurted out, he made choking sounds he couldn't care less about.  
"Johnson," Jim called for his security guard, who had left when Jim conducted his business. The door cracked opened.  
"Yeah, boss?" the man replied.  
"Dispose of this guy and get someone to clean up this mess?" Jim asked, and walked into the bathroom connected to his office to clean up. Jim only ever wore black, so stains were never an issue- but his face and neck needed some work. Cringing, he got a towel and rinsed it under hot water in the sink, and proceeded to wipe away what remained of his snack.  
Five minutes later, he was fresh faced and ready to check out the crowd in his club. Usually a lot of customers came around later, seeing how many of them are immortals. He stepped out of his office, where a daemon had come by to dispose of the rug under his desk, but the body still remained on a plastic sheet, his lifeless eyes staring up in pain.  
Walking down the hall, he relished in the sound of rock n roll playing loud enough to bust his ear drums. He recognized it as the Moody Blues, his favorite band, when he rounded the corner of the hall and ended up leaning over the balcony, taking in the crowd. He nodded to some regulars who passed by, but most of his attention was focused on the strong energy in the room. Never had he felt something like this before, and by the hair standing on the back of his neck, it was not a friend.  
He scanned the crowd for any unfamiliar faces, but even with his superior sight, he couldn't see a damn thing in the dimmed room, with flashing lights changing the colors of everyone's faces. After ten minutes, he still could not find the source of this energy, but it grew stronger. Frustrated, Jim paged Johnson telepathically. His security guard was much taller and much more muscular than Jim. He had deep brown eyes and a flat top hair cut, military style, and he was the only other being Jim trusted. Johnson materialized immediately, and looked down at Jim.  
"Yes?" he asked, staring expectantly.  
"Do you feel it?" Jim asked.  
"I do, what is it?" he looked around suspiciously at the crowd, as if it had been bothering his, too.  
"There's an enemy in our midst," Jim told him mentally, "I need your help to seek him out, but I need him alive."  
Johnson nodded, and disappeared. Putting all his faith in that Johnson would find the hidden threat, Jim went back to his office, which was now completely refurnished and not a trace of murder was in sight.  
He sat at his desk, and took a dollar bill out of his wallet. Sighing, Jim rolled it up and bent over the table top with it in one nostril, the other plugged, and snorted two of the four long lines sitting pretty in a row. Leaning back into his chair, he felt his nose become cold again, and his blood felt thick.  
It wasn't abnormal for vampyres to partake in human drugs, it happened quite frequently, actual. But if their substance use were to get out of hand, then that vampyre would become crazed without it. That's why Jim keeps his addiction. he doesn't need anyone to know just how much cocaine he did, Jim thought as he snorted the rest of his lines. Each drug had a different affected on them than they did on humans, and Cocaine was a no-doze, but it made him calm. Emotionless, uncaring. It's how he got the job done. And because he relied on it so much, he had to have it every hour, in increasing amounts. He could try to cut back, but that would interfered with it's purpose, and he let it get out of hand by this point. Just one hour without it, and he would become crazed.  
Jim was shaken out of his musing by the power he felt earlier, growing stronger by the second. The door opened, and to his surprise, a young, blond man was thrust inside, and fell to the floor. He looked up at Jim, and staring in his eyes, he saw that he was not young at all. He was definitely immortal, but what he was, was a mystery to Jim.  
"Who are you," Jim asked, staring him down. The shorter man remained silent, and continued to stare at him with a strange gaze. Jim bared his teeth, standing from his chair and walked around his desk to the boy. He grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up from the ground, his feet barely grazing the hard wood flood.  
"SPEAK." Jim barked in his face, but the boy's hard eyes just continued to stare at him. He wasn't a boy, though; he was a soldier. Jim dropped him just as he brought his fiery dagger up to slice his throat. He seized his arm and rolled him to his stomach, kicking the weapon away as he struggled to get the upper hand.  
"All you accomplished was pissing me off. Tell me your purpose here," He used his power of persuasion on the blonde, rolling him over onto his back. Instead of getting an answer he desired, the man headbutted him, and kicked Jim off him. Jim fell back, cursing, and held his nose. It wouldn't have been the first time he got the thing broke. He saw the man crawled over to the edge of the desk, leaving his dagger out in the open. Jim wasn't stupid enough to go and grab it, like he wanted him to. No, instead, Jim flipped his desk out of the way, letting it crash loudly with all its belongings rattling about, and confronted a now wide-eyed soldier. He reached for his front holster, but Jim stopped him.  
"Move another muscle, and I'll kill you right now," Jim growled, but after what seemed a brief consideration, the blond quickly reached up, and threw three double-edged knives at him. Jim quickly moved aside and sped towards him, claws and fangs out, when a black shadow encased him, keeping Jim out.  
"What the fuck," Jim breathed as he took in the large, black wings. Wings so big, they had no room to stretch in Jim's office. What kind of immortal had wings, Jim thought dumbfounded. The wings pulled back enough that he could see another dagger aimed his way, and Jim took that opportunity to rush him again, wrap his arm around the man's neck and knock him out. As he fell to the floor, wings still spread out, Jim could only stare. He had an angelic grace about him, something he's never seen before- and now, he had to figure out what the hell to do with him.


	4. High Moon

Brian was slow to wake, feeling a bit groggy from his sleep. Problem was, he doesn't remember falling asleep. He was in the middle of something intense, like-. Brian's eyes popped open, then shut back just as quickly, not wanting to give away that he had waken up. The asshole knocked him out somehow, Brian thought, with a kind of embarrassment. Keeping his composure, he judged his surroundings best he could, and judging by the musty smell and damp cool air, he was either in a cave or an old, cement basement. A cave seemed highly unlikely, so Brian was going to guess he was in the vampyre's house.  
Slowly, Brian tried to move his arms, and chains clinked. Just as he was expecting, they were bound to a chair. As were his feet, which were bare and dusting the dirty stone ground. He gave into the temptation to see what other articles of clothing the freak had removed, and was greeted with his grayish-blue eyes when Brian opened his own. Brian was so shocked he jerked back hard enough to tilt his chair and he went flying backward. "SHIT," he shouted, and his head made contact with the floor. If his hands weren't bound, he'd be cradling his cranium.  
"First word I heard out of you," the vampyre tsked, "Don't worry, this freak was only checking for weapons..." he said, and turned his back to Brian, which hid a smirk. Brian's cheeks burned, not knowing how loud his thoughts were.  
"They're incredibly loud-"  
Brian put up a barrier in his mind, hoping to keep him out. The daemon gave him an indignant frown. Brian returned him a smug grin.  
"I'd appreciate it if you stopped referring to me as 'the vampyre' or 'the daemon'. The name's Jim," he said, "and yours?". He grinned at Brian, but Brian wasn't finding this near as funny as 'Jim'.  
"Release me," Brian demanded of him, yanking at his handcuffed ankles and wrists.  
Jim scoffed, "Yeah, let me get right on that," and sat on the ground in front of him instead. "Why are you here," Jim demanded back at him.  
"Because you brought me here," Brian said simply, knowing it would only make his situation worst but couldn't resist the temptation.  
Jim reached forward and grabbed his hair. Bringing his face close, Jim growled, "You know what I mean, blondie. Why did you attack me in my office? Who do you work for?"  
"To exterminate your kind," Brian growled back, and tried to headbutt him again, but Jim had a strong hold on his hair, and he brought it down to the cement roughly.  
"You're doing a great job," Jim said sarcastically, bringing to Brian's attention that he was imprisoned by his target. Only a few hours into his mission, and he was taken captive by the very thing he was assigned to kill. He failed Micheal and the other arch-  
His train of thought ended abruptly when he say how intense Jim was staring at him. His deep eyes were narrowed as if in concentration.  
"The Archangels..." Jim breathed, and laughed a little. A phone rang in the distance, and he let go of Brian's hair, and stood from his crouch in front of the tipped over chair Brian was chained to. He left the room and closed the door, leaving him in the dark.  
Brian tried to contact the Archangels; no such luck. He didn't have any luck with materializing out of his chains, either. So he remained there for the next ten minutes, till Jim came back, looking thoughtful, then expressionless as he looked at Brian. There was something seriously wrong with him.  
"If you're just going to insult me, I'm leaving you here by yourself," Jim said, glaring at Brian as he fixed his chair.  
"It's rude to peak into my thoughts anyway." Fucker. Jim ignored Brian's mental jab, rather looked contemplative. Finally he spoke.  
"This is an odd predicament we're in. I don't necessarily want to kill you, because you could be useful to me, but I know if I release you, you will try to kill me. So I need you to make a blood oath with me," he concluded, and pulled a dagger out.  
"Wow, mate. You need to explain everything you just dropped on me, especially that little blood oath you pulled out of your arse," Brian sputtered. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose.  
"I don't have enough time to explain everything now. The blood oath we're going to swear we won't kill each other, or else we experience excruciating pain," Jim stated plainly with a shrug, digging a key out of his trousers' pocket like this was an everyday normality.  
"But killing you is my mission," Brian said indignantly.  
"Fine, I'll just kill you, and find someone else to kill the daemons over running my club and killing my customers-"  
"You have a problem with daemons?" Brian interrupted, not believing what he was hearing. "Yeah, the ones that are killing my customers," Jim replied. He stared at Brian expectantly, till the blond sighed.  
"I'll take your blood oath," he mumbled, and help you with your daemon problem". He knew this would jeopardize his mission, but he would worry about that later. As of this moment, he needed to get out of these chains, alive. He still couldn't figure out why he couldn't dematerialize.  
"Don't get too excited, now," Jim drawled, going to unchain Brian before halting suddenly. Confused, Brian looked up at him to find the vampyre looking down suspiciously. "How do I know that you aren't just going to FLY AWAY, and not help me at all?" Jim accused. Brian rolled his eyes. "Angels can't lie. We can't even lie to ourselves," he admitted, "Will you unchain me now?" Seeming pleased enough with that answer, Jim unchained Brian and took a step back before cutting open his palm. "After this we're going straight to the club. I have a score to settle with a few people." When Brian stood, Jim took his hand and cut a deep gash into his palm before he could protest. Blood began to well in both their hands, the cuts slowly overflowing with crimson.  
"Okay...so... what do we do," Brian asked, feeling awkward, holding back a grimace from the stinging sensation of the wound.  
Jim grabbed his bloody hand with his own, and said something in Latin, then encouraged Brian to do the same. They then shook hands. Now that they weren't fighting, Brian could really pay attention to what Jim looked like. He had curly, brown hair that swept his shoulders, and almost blond eyebrows. His nose had a straight bridge, and had a regal look about him. His jaw was cut nicely, and all together, he was very attractive-  
Stop that, Brian, he snapped at himself, before he embarrassed himself. "Alright, then..." Jim let go of his hand, looking at him cross, and licked his own palm. Brian didn't find that appealing, but he didn't know what to do with it. He moved around the room trying to find a towel amidst a pile of junk, and turned up with nothing. He came back up to Jim who had come back into the room from moving the chair into another room, and moved to wipe it on his pants, but Jim was staring at it intensely. Eyes glittering, almost dazed, he licked his lips, and his fangs started to show from under his top lip.  
"Ehhh...here?" Brian didn't know what else to do, so he slowly offered up his bloody palm. Jim grabbed hold tightly with his already healed hand, and slowly licked up the wound on Brian's hand, seeming to savour it. The sensation it cause scared Brian. He liked it, but hated it.  
"Okay, mate, that's enough," Brian said quickly, and rushed into the next room. He thought he heard Jim growl, but ignored it best he could as he escaped his presence. Finding a bathroom, he washed his and Jim's blood off, finding the wound healed after Jim had lapped up the bloodied wound. Brian stared deeply at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Being in the presence of a vampyre caused a strange sensation in Brian. Or perhaps, it was just THIS vampyre. What about Jim made him feel so awkward? Brian didn't want an answer. In the back of his mind, he knew already, so he shut those dangerous thoughts down for another time. After five minutes, Brian became curious as to the silence in the house and went searching for his vampire companion. He found the man in the kitchen, leaning over the sink, breathing jagged. His arms were tensely grabbing the edge of the counter top, muscle flexed. He looked like he was in pain, but Brian didn't dare go near him. His fangs had descended completely, and he was speaking to himself under his breath, at least that's what Brian could hear. He didn't know what the hell was going on, and thought back through the past 30 minutes. When he recalled the blood oath, it clicked. Brian's blood must've been the cause of Jim's current animalistic state. Brian thought that maybe while Jim was in this state, he could sneak behind him and escape out the door, but a creak in the floor soon gained Jim's unwanted attention. His head cranked around quickly and he saw the tense muscles in his face from the pain and the pupils that had dilated to cover his iris almost completely. "Listen mate, you've gotta knock yourself out of this. If you kill me, its suicide," Brian tried to reason. Jim moved toward him so fast he could hardly see him. Brian didn't have any of his weapons anymore so he was defenseless besides his wings, but he couldn't expand them quick enough to protect him. Jim had already moved right in front of Brian, and picked up the shorter lad by the front of his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. Looking down at Jim, Brian could see every frightful detail of this vampyre in his wicked state. His facial muscles have grown incredible taught, so pronounced they looked to be trying to break free. His fangs had grown to incredible lengths, cast down to cover his bottom lip, and his eyes, once a blue-grey color, now swirled of black obsidian. Brian wasn't sure how this would play out, but he know that Jim was about to have his way with him.


	5. Crazed

Jim should have known better than to consume the blood of another immortal he knew nothing of; it always had dastardly consequences. Such as, going into a blood-fueled craze. Vision tinted red, Jim stared over his shoulder to the angel- whom he figured out was named Brian; the man's heart started to beat faster, he could see it in the pulse in his neck. He remained calm, but the smell of fear in the air was something he could not ignore. He could still taste his blood on his tongue, like a taste of honey, succulent as it graced his pallet, and the inner beast in him wanted more, but Jim refused to give into temptation, for fear of draining the man dry. He turned back to looking down at the sink, and spit out more pink-tinted saliva. Not the angel's blood, but his own, from biting his cheek.  
Jim felt the energy he put off grow slightly stronger, as did the aroma of his sweet blood. Brian was slowly walking behind Jim, trying to reach the backdoor to escape. Before he could stop himself, Jim turned toward him quickly and grabbed for him.  
Brian opened his mouth to speak, but Jim grabbed the shorter man by the front of his neck and lifted him up, pushing him against the wall, and supporting him with his own body. His lip curled back to expose his fangs, and he glared at his cause of ire. He showed no panic in his face, which was now so close to his own, but Jim saw the pulse jumping at the base of his pale throat again and he licked his lips. The vampyre in him became excited, wanted to kill, hear his screams of agony and pleas of mercy, drain him dry and watch the light fade from his eyes. He got so far as to grazing his teeth on Brian's neck. Before the blond fucker brought his hand up and smashed his nose. Jim howled in pain, dropping Brian to the floor and clutching his nose. He rolled away, and Jim watched- through his crimson gaze- him start to dig through random drawers till he found a pair of scissors. Jim stood, baring his teeth and curled his fingers into claws, his only weapon. Brian stood in a sparing stance, waiting for Jim to charge him. He sped up to him and appeared behind him, grabbing Brian in a head lock again. Brian seemed to be prepared as best he could be for such a quick attack, bringing the scissor blades up in what he could imagine was an uncomfortable arch, and impaled the weapon into Jim's hip. He hissed at the fierce jab, but it didn't stop him from jabbing his own incisors into Brian's throat, drawing out the blood he so desperately desired. Just one drop of the angel's delicious life source sent Jim into a daze; his vision turned a deeper red, and he ignored the stabbing that Brian brought down upon his leg with his make shift weapon. Out of nowhere, Brian tucked his legs up to his chest, surprising Jim with the immediate weight gain. He fell to the floor, out of Jim's reach, once again, holding his throat. Jim's fangs had tore a giant gash into Brian's throat when he dropped, and now blood spilled violently all over the kitchen floor, permeating the air with it's sweetness, enticing him all the more. Brian remained on the floor, looking unsure about his next move; Jim, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was going to do, as he advanced towards the shorter man. Just as he was upon Brian, his wing unfurled to their maximum length, filling the small kitchen, and pushing Jim back. Brian used his wings once again as a shield. Infuriated, Jim grabbed the wing and pulled it. Either he was going to break it, or Brian was going to heed. But he WAS eating his prey. Just as he was grabbing for the knives in another drawer, Brian stumbled toward Jim when his wing was pulled, and he dropped one of the knives. Before he fell, though, he was able to properly throw a knife, impaling Jim in the chest. He didn't want to kill, just injure him enough to get away, which was proving harder than he thought originally. Staring at the man, he looked crazed, like a rabid animal. Pupils dilated to an impossible size, blood dripping down the sides of his mouth; his fangs bit into his bottom lip, and he continued to sneer at Brian. He was truly frightened, for the first time in many, many years. But when the knife hit Jim's chest, he hardly flinched, like he didn't feel pain in this state. Jim pulled the kitchen knife out of his chest, and threw it on the tile. It clattered loudly, and dripped with blood, into the puddle that was already created from Brian's neck. Sitting on the floor, Brian scooted back till he hit the wall, trying to get away from Jim. He decided to try talking to the vampyre, call him out of this blood-fueled rage. "Jim, you need to snap out of this," Brian pleaded. "There's gotta be some rational part of you in there. Remember the blood oath?" Jim was now kneeling over Brian, grinning sickly with all teeth bared, tinted pink with blood in all the crevices between the teeth, and blood running down his chin. The man was possessed. There was no way any sane man, vampyre or not, could behold eyes of sinful delight such as these. Without thinking about the gross amounts of blood in his mouth and around them, nor the possibility of his face getting torn off by either this daemon or Jim, Brian grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down, capturing his lips with his own. It was such a shocking move, neither saw it coming. He couldn't think of anything else to bring Jim's mental state back to normal. Brian didn't move, was expecting immediate death, but this daemon was all for it. Unexpectedly for Brian, he- it, whatever you may- took control of the kiss and started moving his lips over the blond's. Unwilling to anger the thing that had just tried to drain his blood, he kissed it back. Brian wasn't willing to admit it, but in the back of his brain, he wished they were in a different situation, had met under different circumstances- Jim dropped down into his lap and didn't move. Brian was unsure what was happening and didn't move, either, for five minutes. Brian looked out the window, and saw the dark sky had lightened up quite a bit since Jim's attack, and realized, vampyres drop dead at sunrise. Pushing the man off of him, Brian laughed manically at the sight of all his blood on the tiled floor, the cabinets, and ceiling. Wearily, he went to the bathroom and tried to bandage his wound on his neck, which continued to spout blood. On the mortal plane, he could not heal himself, but because he had not completed his mission, and never will, Brian could not go back to heaven to heal. After walking back into the kitchen, he tried his best to dispose of the mess, every ounce of blood the angel could find. He needed to strip Jim out of his soiled clothes as to keep this from happening again, and though the aspect made him uncomfortable, it had to be done. He took Jim's clothes off in the kitchen, and dragged the larger man to the bathroom and dumped him in the shower. He turned it on and let it run as he stumbled back to the kitchen to clean up the mess. He only got as far as the floors and cabinets before he began to feel incredibly weak from blood loss, and soon passed out leaning his back against the fridge.


	6. Moonrise

Jim was laying in a large bed, naked with legs tangled in crimson satin sheets. He was exhausted, but not by any means ready for sleep. Smirking, he reached down and played with the hair of his partner, who was laying on top of him. When he felt that soft hair, he sighed and looked down at his fair lady, who always appeared in his dreams. It was the same dream every day for him and his late wife in the late 1600s. They were always in his castle, in his bed, making love and relishing in each other's company. But tonight was different. It was not her long, red hair he ran his fingers through. Nor was it her curvy figure who laid on his body or even her face that looked up to meet his eyes.  
It was the angel who he laid in bed with.  
Jim caressed Brian's cheek, lifting his face to reach his own. He laid a gentle kiss on Brian's lips, and Brian received him well. When they parted and Brian hovered over him, Jim noticed bite marks on his neck, and smiled a little. Very rarely does another being trust a vampyre so much as to allow them near their neck, nonetheless let them take blood. But Brian was different, Jim thought as he saw the love shining in his eyes. Brian opened his mouth to say something, but the dream disappeared, as if a mist had been disturbed.  
Gasping, Jim sat straight up. He was confused. The vision was too strong to not be real. The way it made him feel, how his dead, black heart felt. He shook his head, unwilling to think about that at the moment. He felt a cold rain fall down upon him, and noticed he was in the tub, naked, while the shower cascaded down upon him. "What the fuck," Jim muttered to himself, looking down at the blood that didn't wash itself away, and then he remembered the night before. How Brian's blood had sent him into a craze and how he nearly murdered the man. And that surprising kiss... Shaking himself away from the thought, Jim stood and turned the shower water to a hotter temperature as to wash himself down. This would be the first shower he took in weeks. When he was finished, he reached into the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and pulled out a small glass container of cocaine and snorted some up into his nose. It was best that he did so before confronting the angel, as it would help take the edge off and keep him in control. Jim admitted to himself that his addition to the powder has grown far worst than he could handle, but that was a worry for another day. Right now, he had to figure out what to do with this angel who came crashing into his life. Walking out of the bathroom and through the living room, he did feel sign of Brian until he made it to just outside of the kitchen, where a weak sign of energy lay. Peaking around the corner, Jim saw the blonde man laying against the fridge, head hanging down and hair streaked with red and black. It was obvious the man was on the verge of death, and it perplexed him as to why an immortal of his power was unable to heal himself. Jim crouched down in front of the man and removed the towel from his neck. The wound had clogged itself, and the blood dripped down his shirt into his lap. Jim slashed his wrist with his incisor, and poured his own blood over the wound, as well as in Brian's mouth. He leaned his head back to allow it down his throat. The only reason he cared if the blonde lived or not was because he needed him. That if he allowed him to die by his own actions, it was a death sentence to him, as well. That's what he told himself, at least. It wasn't because of the dream. it wasn't because of what his own thoughts started to make him feel for the man. Of course not. As Jim dealt with his inner demons, he didn't realize that Brian was coming to and Jim stilled had his wrist pressed against his mouth. Brian slowly drifted back to consciousness from his deep sleep. He had the most delightfully strange dream. He was back in his home town in England, with his children, but his dreadful whore of a girlfriend was nowhere in sight. Rather, it was a tall, handsome man who was playing with his kids. He had curly brown hair and a slim but muscular frame. All he could see was his back until he slowly turned and saw the perfect slope of that nose and his jaw, and blue-grey eyes. He was consumed with love, until he recognized that face and awoke. Brian felt something pressed against his open mouth and something warm and metallic sliding down his throat. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw Jim staring through him intensely, and his wrist pressed against his mouth. Brian pushed at Jim's arm, and Jim jumped from the unexpected motion. He stood up quickly and got away from the man. "I need you alive. Get yourself cleaned up so we can get to my club. I'll retrieve your weapons," and with that, Jim turned and sauntered away, leaving Brian in a pile of his blood. After cleaning up the mess, taking a shower, and putting his bloodied clothes back on, he went out to the living vamypre's living room to retrieve his weapons. "You can't wear that, it covered in your blood," he protested. Brian rolled his eyes then turned towards the man. "Okay, well do you have anything else for me to wear? We are obviously not of the same size so I'd suppose this is my only option". Jim shifted, knowing he was right, and not having any argument for him. Brian smirked, and went to the front door to leave. "Where do you think you're going, angel?" Jim drawled in his southern accent. "To the club?" Brian answered, irritated. "Not like that, sweetheart," Jim said smugly. The tone of his voice and the pet name aggravated Brian, but he wouldn't let it show. "Alright, mate, how then?" he asked expectantly. "I'm not your 'mate'," Jim mocked in a fake accent. "Why are you such a grumpy ass?" Brian asked. Jim was the rudest being he ever had the pleasure of associating with. Jim pretended to pondered it. "I reckon I've been this way since my wife died, in 1690. She was raped and murdered," Jim confessed, "not really bothered by it anymore, considering I butchered the men who did it and watched their houses and families burn. I can still hear the screams of their anguish as they perished in their firey graves."  
Brian's eyes widened, and his mouth opened and closed like he didn't know what to say. While he was preoccupied looking for words, Jim grabbed him and they dematerialized, straight to the club.


End file.
